A Capsicle Christmas
by Spencesttar
Summary: Steve had resigned himself to a lonely Christmas Eve after his ma got called into work. Little did he know, his quiet evening would be interrupted by a late night visitor. Spoiler alert: it's not Santa.


Even though Steve was a senior and eagerly looked forward to graduating, there were still days when he wished high school could last forever.

"Steve! Duck!"

A snowball whizzed through the air, hitting Steve in the chest from seemingly out of nowhere as he turned around, and splattered into a spray of slushy snow. Steve brushed it off amid peals of laughter, and shook his wet hand.

Other days, Steve couldn't wait to get away from these lunatics for a little while. He was starting to reconsider having invited his friends over to his house for one last movie night before everyone left for winter break.

"Apologies, Steve! I was aiming for Clint when he evaded my snowball by ducking away."

"You should have chosen your target better! I haven't been hit all winter! That makes it Nat and my's twelve points to your, Steve, Tony, and Bruce's zero!"

Thor clapped a hand on Steve's shoulder, leaning in with a grin as he muttered. "Next time I'll aim for the head. As big as it is, I think I stand a better chance of making contact."

"I heard that!"

"If you can hit him in the head, I think we can petition for it to count as five points," Steve whispered back.

Distracted, Steve nearly slipped on the large patch of ice on the sidewalk in front of him, arms spiraling out to catch himself at the last minute. He took a slow, cautious step forward, ready to warn everyone to watch their step, when Clint took a running start, and glided across the ice. He did a perfect spin, launching a snowball at Steve midway through it, and stepped onto solid ground.

The snowball hit Steve in the exact same location as the previous snowball, leaving him even wetter than before.

Clint whooped, leaning back against the wire fence behind him as he laughed.

Steve opened his mouth to chastise him when a third snowball hit him from behind.

"Juniors fourteen, seniors zero." Natasha did her own graceful slide across the ice and fist bumped Clint. She smirked, looking far more dangerous than anybody wearing a hat with a red poof-ball on the top had any right to look, and added, "What's wrong, Cap? You look like you're moving a little slow."

Clint cackled, moving to step away when his coat snagged on the fence and jerked him back, a large rip heard as he tumbled to the ground.

"Ouch!"

Natasha rolled her eyes and helped Clint to his feet while Tony moved past a laughing Steve and Thor to examine the fence. Bruce followed close behind him, holding back a smile of his own.

"Unbelievable," Tony said. "How do you slide across the ice with that much coordination, then fall after catching yourself on a piece of metal sticking out no more than a centimeter?"

"Would you believe I was raised in a circus?"

"I'd believe you were raised in a barn."

"It's Barton luck," Natasha said. She signed something at Clint and poked her finger through a decently sized hole in his coat. He spun around to see it, face falling.

"Aw, coat, no!"

"Don't sweat it, Bird Brain. Your coat was hanging on by a thread, it's about time somebody put it out of its misery," Tony said.

"Hey! I know it's a shitty coat, but it's the only one I've got!"

"Language," Steve scolded.

"Extenuating circumstances," Clint quipped. He turned to Natasha beseechingly, holding the damaged coat toward her. "What do you think, Tasha? Can I fix it?"

Tony cut her off before she could answer. "I already told you, Clint. Just toss it and get a new one."

"Knock it off, Tony. Not everyone's family is rich," Bruce said quietly but firmly. He pushed his glasses up his nose, and took a closer look. "If Steve's mom has some sewing supplies, I can patch that up for you while we watch the movie."

"You don't have to do that, Bruce." Clint looked uncomfortable, one hand coming to rub at the back of his neck. "I can take care of it myself."

"Up to you, but I don't mind. In all honesty, I kind of enjoy it. Sewing can be nice and relaxing." Bruce shrugged and knelt on the ground on the pretense of retying his shoe. While the others were distracted, Steve saw him scoop up a handful of snow and hide it at his side. "Besides, it's the least I can do after hitting you."

Bruce took advantage of their confusion, shoving the pile of snow in his hand against the front of Clint's coat. He brushed the remaining snow off his hands and smiled at their shocked expressions, not waiting for the rest of them before walking off in the direction of Steve's house.

Thor recovered first, a grin splitting his face as he took off after Bruce, shouting, "Seniors get a point!"

True to his word, Bruce sewed up Clint's coat while they sat around Steve's living room and watched a Christmas movie. Well…watched was a relatively loose term, Steve thought, as they spent most of their time talking over the movie.

Not that it was anything unusual for them. It was only during the middle of the third movie, long after Bruce had handed Clint back his coat and Clint had thanked him profusely, and well after they had devoured the pizzas Tony bought them, that they all settled down and found their place. Thor, Bruce, Tony, and Steve all shared the couch, mildly squished together, but used to the arrangement and not uncomfortable. Natasha sat in the old recliner with a janky footrest, sitting off to one side so there was room for Clint, even though he clearly seemed to prefer sitting on the arm of the chair instead.

It was so peaceful that Steve's ma opening the door startled everyone. Clint slipped from the armrest into the empty space besides Natasha, his back leaning against her and legs over the arm's chair, while Bruce's hand flew to his chest and he pushed his glasses nervously up his nose. Even Steve jumped a little before turning around in his seat to see his ma waving from the doorway.

"Hi, Ma," Steve said. "How was work?"

"Oh, it was good. I expect tomorrow will be busy, though. And it's so windy out! It's going to be a cold winter," his mother said. She smiled kindly at his friends, quick to add, "Oh, don't worry about moving, sweetie, you're okay. That armchair can handle anything."

Clint who had been trying to discreetly move his legs into a normal sitting position, froze. He muttered a polite, "Thank you, Ma'am," before returning to his previous position, leaning a little more against Natasha. She slung an arm around him and pinned him in place.

"I'll be in the kitchen or my room. Let me know if you need anything, Steve. It was good seeing all of you again!"

His ma waved, giving everyone another bright smile before walking away. A few seconds later, they heard the sound of her bedroom door closing.

"I thought your mom was on vacation?" Bruce asked.

"Soon. She has off starting on Christmas Eve," Steve said. "Then she's off for a week."

"Are you guys doing anything for Christmas?"

"The usual. Making soup together, exchanging gifts, then relaxing at home. What about you?"

"My aunt and I are going to visit relatives. It's been a while since I've seen my cousin, so it'll be nice to catch up with them."

"I offered to let him come on vacation with my family and I to Italy, but he declined," Tony pitched in. "He's met my parents so I understand why."

"What about you, Thor? Going anywhere?" Steve asked.

"Not this year. My family, however, will be hosting all of my relatives and extended family over the holidays," Thor said. "As we have done in the past, it will be a huge Norse celebration with good food, warm drinks, and lots of music."

"Sounds like fun!"

"It is!" Thor enthused. "Not to mention, Loki and my's tradition of seeing who can bake the best Christmas bread."

"Wait. You bake?" Clint asked, trying and failing to free himself from Natasha's hold. "And you've never offered to share with us?"

"Loki would say my baking skills leave much to be desired," Thor said. He leaned closer conspiratorially, a twinkle in his eyes. "He has won the last three years in a row, but this year I am determined to win. And if I do, I will make it for you."

"I believe in you, Thor. I have a good feeling that this is your year," Clint said.

"Thank you," Thor said. "And what are you two doing for Christmas?"

"Staying here," Clint said. "Hopefully, catching up on sleep."

Clint nudged Natasha.

"My family and I rent a cabin in the woods and spend break there."

"And where's that?" Tony asked. "My dad has a place nearby, maybe it's close to it."

"Somewhere cold and isolated."

"Which is where exactly?"

"North."

Tony raised an eyebrow, seeing if she would elaborate, but she met his gaze with a blank look. After a silent staring competition, Tony surrendered. They were quiet for a few minutes before Tony said, "Movie night at my place when we're all back in town. And if it's nice, we'll find somewhere to go sledding."

They agreed and finished the movie. Not long after that, it was time to say goodbye. Steve hovered in the doorway, watching fondly as the others bundled up in their winter wear. Thor had an impish smile on his face as he demanded hugs from everyone, pulling Bruce into a surprise bearhug before he could hide. Tony opened his own arms, grinning cheekily as he exchanged a hug with Thor. Even Clint who was laughing, trying to hide behind Bruce, couldn't escape when Thor grabbed him and lifted him off his feet into a hug, Tony sandwiching him in from the other side.

Natasha slipped into place next to Steve, watching as Tony tried to wrangle Bruce into the group hug also. She nudged Steve in the side, catching his eye. "Have a good break, Steve. You deserve it."

"Thanks, Natasha."

She bit her lip, watching the others with a furrowed brow. Steve could tell something was on her mind. It was the most concerned he'd seen her in a long time. He was going to ask her, but she beat him to the punch.

"Can you do me a favor, Steve?" When he nodded, she said, "Check in on Clint for me over break. I'm not going to have great reception where I'm going."

"Of course," He was going to say more, but she cut him off with a quick 'thank you'. She smiled, darted forward, and pushed Bruce into the hug.

He didn't have time to think any more about it when Clint, still squished in the center, yelped, "Steve, help! Get them off!"

"Sorry, Clint. I can't do that." Steve opened his own arms, smiling as he walked forward and completed the group hug.

Steve looked at the Christmas tree proudly, admiring the lights and ornaments, and he felt happy. He and his ma had never been the type of people to have large, over-the-top decorations, but they enjoyed a few simple decorations to make the house feel more Christmas-y. The tree and a couple of small wooden Santas handed down through the family that dated back to the forties were the main attractions. But the decoration he loved most was a collage of pictures, one taken every Christmas, showing him and his ma standing in front of the Christmas tree.

It was just as important to him as the plate of homemade Christmas cookies on the kitchen table and the smell of chicken dumpling soup that wafted through the house from the kitchen stove. They made it together every Christmas Eve, going back as far as Steve could remember.

"Steve! Hurry up and put the music on! It's time to make the dumplings!"

"Coming, Ma!"

Steve turned on the radio, and Frank Sinatra's crooning voice began to sing a Christmas carol as Steve made his way back to the kitchen. His ma smiled, pushed back a stray piece of her hair, and handed him the spoon to start making dumplings while she added vegetables to a boiling pot.

Steve could imagine his own ma as a little girl doing the same thing with his grandma. They probably sang some of the same songs that Steve and his ma were merrily singing along with the radio.

As Steve added the dumplings to the pot, giving it a good stir, he savored the smell. His ma gave him a smile, ruffling his hair as she passed to get bowls and silverware. She handed them to Steve and he was in the process of filling them when his ma's phone rang.

Steve's heart sank. His ma looked at the screen, gave him an apologetic look, and went into the next room to answer. Her voice came through as a low murmur, and Steve knew already that he'd be spending Christmas Eve alone. He set both bowls on the table, waiting patiently for his ma to finish her call and join him.

Sarah Rogers was a strong woman, and Steve loved her for it. He knew how hard she worked to provide for them, and how difficult it was for her to balance her time. He did what he could to make it easier for her, tried to be as understanding as possible. She smiled when she walked back into the room, and Steve saw her putting on a brave face, even if it didn't quite reach her eyes. Steve pushed the bowl toward her.

"You should eat before you leave."

She took a seat at the table, reaching out to touch his cheek, her thumb brushing gently across his skin. "How did I get so lucky to have such a sweet boy?"

"It's because you're such a good mom."

"A good mom shouldn't be leaving her favorite son alone on Christmas Eve."

"What did the hospital say?"

"They're understaffed. Claire has the flu, so they sent her home, and several emergencies have come in. They could really use the extra help and are willing to pay overtime if I come in. I don't want to, but since they've given me a week off, it seems like the least I can do."

Steve nodded, pausing while he took a bite of soup. "When will you be home?"

"Four AM. Earlier if it slows down." She smiled. "I'll be home before you wake up. Then I'll make you breakfast, and you and I can celebrate a proper Christmas."

"I think you're forgetting that I usually wake up first and make you breakfast."

She laughed, smile finally reaching her eyes. They quietly ate their soup, Christmas music playing softly in the background. When they finished, Steve collected the empty dishes and started washing them while his ma changed into her scrubs. He packed her a lunchbox and waited patiently. She gave him another sympathetic smile as she put on her coat.

"Don't wait up for me. Get some sleep, and I promise I'll be home when you wake up. We'll do whatever you want tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay, Ma."

"Come here." She enveloped him in a hug and pulled his head down to give it a kiss. "Stay warm. It's supposed to be freezing tonight."

Steve waved goodbye. He sighed, locking the door before going to sit in the living room where the tree lights twinkled and cast a merry glow over the room. He thought about putting on a movie or reading a book, but quickly discarded the idea.

He pulled out his phone and unlocked the screen, catching sight of the background picture of him with his friends. His eyes shot to Natasha, and he remembered his promise to her. He'd been chatting with Clint a few minutes every couple of days to see how he was doing, and he'd nearly forgotten today. He typed out a short message, sent it out, and tossed his phone on the couch to wait for a reply.

In the meantime, he settled on pulling out his drawing pad and started sketching. The snow falling outside the window combined with the decorations he and his ma had put up, were perfect for inspiration. It had been so long since he'd been able to just draw that he lost himself in the process, unaware of how much time had passed.

So when he heard a quiet knock on the door, he was surprised to see it was after ten o'clock.

Steve warily made his way to the door and peeked through the blinds. His hand slipped as he rushed to unlock the door. He threw it open, shivering at the sudden rush of frigid air, and gaped at the person standing in front of him.

"H-h-hey, S-S-S-St-Steve."

Clint's teeth chattered as he tried to grin, whole body trembling violently. He was dreadfully underdressed for the weather, missing his hat, gloves, and jacket. His blonde hair was plastered to his head, peeking out under the hood of his soaked and shabby purple sweatshirt. Steve was shocked to see that Clint's lips looked almost blue. It seemed to be the only part of him that showed any color, the rest of his skin a pale, ghostly shade of white.

"Clint, what happened to you?"

Clint's grin, barely held in place, slipped. He sniffed and looked at his feet. "'M really c-c-co-cold, S-Steve. C-c-c-can I please c-c-come in?"

"Yeah, of course."

Steve stepped back quickly, and Clint shuffled inside, each step seeming to take more effort that it should. Steve slammed the door behind him while Clint watched looking somewhat dazed.

"What happened to you? How long were you outside, Clint? You look frozen."

"Dunno. L-l-lost tr-track when I decided to w-w-walk here. G-g-got turn'd ar-round a few t-t-times."

Steve couldn't help the delayed reaction, his jaw dropped. He started looking around for his phone, patting his pockets while he said, "You need to see a doctor. I'll call my ma, and see if she can come get us or-"

"No!" Clint's hand reached out to stop him, and Steve nearly pulled away when Clint's hand made contact, his skin as cold as ice. "N-n-no hospital. P-please, they'll c-c-call the police. I d-d-don't wanna g-g-go back."

Steve put his hands up, sensing Clint's impending panic, and hurriedly said, "Okay, okay. We'll stay here, Clint. I promise." He started to put a hand on Clint's shoulder to lead him into the living room, but Clint flinched away. Clint's hands tucked themselves back under his armpits and he looked at Steve with an uncanny combination of uncertainty and trust. "Let's just get you warm, huh? We'll take your temperature, get you into some dry clothes, and cover you in a pile of blankets."

Clint nodded, stumbling but somehow able to keep his balance as he kicked off his shoes. Steve led Clint toward his room, giving him a small nudge when he hesitated near the door. Steve immediately pulled out his warmest sweatpants and socks, and he threw them on his bed. Another look at how badly Clint was shaking, and he added several shirts and his best sweatshirt to the pile, figuring Clint could layer them.

"I'm going to grab a thermometer and throw some blankets in the dryer to warm them up. Change into those while I'm gone."

Clint nodded, and Steve left him to it. He threw several blankets into the dryer and stacked the rest on the corner of the couch. He stopped in the kitchen and started his ma's kettle on a burner. Clint didn't like tea, and there was no way Steve was giving him coffee, but Steve knew there was hot chocolate mix in one of the cupboards that would be perfect.

It had been several minutes since Steve had left Clint, so he grabbed the thermometer and hustled back, stopping to hover just outside of the doorway.

He couldn't help the reaction. On a normal day, Clint's hand-eye coordination was astonishing. Steve had seen him hit a quarter off a bottle with a bow and arrow from at least 40 feet away, but now? Now, Clint was struggling just to grasp the edge of his sweatshirt to pull it over his head, his hands so unsteady they either missed or couldn't maintain their grip. Right now, it seemed like an incredible success for him to have already changes into the fresh pair of sweatpants on his own.

"Let me help you," Steve heard himself say. He moved into the room, standing a respectable distance away, and added, "It'll be quicker."

"I c-c-can do it."

Stubborn as always. Steve crossed his arms over his chest, adopting his 'team captain' voice, and said, "I know. But you needed to be warm and dry thirty minutes ago. And I know you think it's embarrassing, but it's not. I won't tell anyone."

Steve was hoping for a sarcastic reply or a joke. Secretly, he wanted to hear one of Clint's cocky innuendos that always made Tony laugh and Steve roll his eyes. What he got instead was silence, and it set off all kinds of alarms in Steve's mind. Clint hung his head, avoiding eye contact, as he nodded miserably.

"C-c-can you take out m-m-my hearing aids first?" Clint asked quietly. "Don't wan-n-na lose 'em."

"Sure. Take a seat, you look like you're about to fall over."

Clint tiredly obeyed, studiously avoiding Steve's gaze until he was right next to him and kneeling in front of him.

"You ready?"

"J-j-just do it."

Steve nodded. He didn't miss how Clint closed his eyes and breathed deeply while Steve carefully removed the hearing aids and set them aside. When they were out, Steve gave him a small tap on the shoulder, waiting until he was watching him before putting his arms in the air and reflexively saying, "Arms up."

Clint sluggishly raised his arms, and Steve made quick work of removing his sweatshirt. He hesitated again removing his undershirt, but the shirt was soaked, and Clint needed to be in dry clothes if he was going to warm up. Clint seemed resigned to what was happening, a frown on his face but pliant enough, so Steve tugged it off.

Steve tried not to react when he caught sight of the black and purple bruises on his arms and chest. Harder to be silent about were the faded, crisscrossed scars on his back that Steve saw when he reached past Clint to grab the fresh clothes.

Steve took a deep breath of his own and pasted on a smile while he helped Clint into several shirts. He'd never realized before how scrawny Clint was, and even with multiple layers, Steve's sweatshirt was loose and covered Clint's hands.

Steve switched out Clint's socks then patted Clint's knee, holding up his hearing aids and raising an eyebrow questioningly while he gestured towards Clint's ears. When Clint nodded, Steve studiously replaced the hearing aids.

"Ready for the thermometer?"

Clint didn't say anything, but he opened his mouth when Steve held the thermometer out to him. It seemed like an eternity before it beeped.

"Damn it, Clint. You're really hypothermic."

"Language."

It was amazing how happy that one word made Steve.

"Extenuating circumstances," Steve replied. Steve gave Clint a genuine smile as he tugged the hood of the sweatshirt over Clint's head and tightened the strings lightly, so it covered more of his face. "That okay?"

Clint seemed to ignore the question, going mildly cross-eyed as he tried to see the knot under his chin. He tilted sideways, catching himself from falling at the last minute, and dug cold hands into the pouch of the shirt.

"I m-must look like sh-shit for you to gi-give me your fav-v-v'rite shirt."

Steve hadn't really thought about it, grabbing what he knew was his warmest one: a thick navy sweatshirt with red and white circles on the front overlaid by a white star. Bucky had given it to him a couple years ago before he moved, and Steve always felt more relaxed when he wore it. He'd nearly tore the house apart looking for it when Thor had borrowed it and forgot to tell him. Getting it back from Thor was one of the few times he had ever raised his voice at one of his friends.

"You've definitely looked better," Steve said. "Now come on, let's get you to the living room where it's warmer."

He took Clint's arm and half carried him into the living room, settling Clint in the corner of the couch. Next, he grabbed the warm blankets from the dryer and bundled them around Clint, trying to keep the heat trapped near his core. He had Clint bury his hands under one of the more superficial blankets to prevent them from warming up too quickly then scurried away and returned with hot chocolate in a coffee travel mug he'd managed to fit a straw into.

Clint had curled up under the blankets, knees tucked up to his chest, and only the smallest sliver of his face visible where he had nuzzled it into the blankets. It could have been Steve's unfailing sense of optimism, but even though Clint was still trembling, his shivering seemed less pronounced than before and his teeth were not chattering quite as much.

Steve gave him a small nudge, unsure that Clint even felt it through all the layers until he lifted his tired blue eyes to look at Steve. Steve held out the beverage, helping Clint arrange it in the blankets so he didn't have to hold it with his hands, and waited until he seemed stable to take a seat on the other side of the couch.

"What is it?" Clint asked.

"Hot chocolate. It helps warm up your core body temperature. Not to mention, your body burns a lot of energy trying to keep itself warm when you're hypothermic, so the sugar is a good energy boost."

Clint took a sip. He seemed to savor the warmth, drinking deeply after. They passed time in silence, Steve monitoring Clint while he finished his drink, until Clint pushed it away with a quiet, "Thank you."

Steve moved the empty glass and picked up the thermometer once again, holding it out for Clint. When it beeped, Steve read the number and let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. "Still not great, but better. We'll check it again in thirty minutes."

"How d'you know so much about hypothermia?" Clint asked quietly.

"I fell through the ice when I was a kid. I was only in the water for a minute or two before Bucky pulled me out, but it was enough to become hypothermic," Steve said. "They rushed me to the hospital and warmed me up. I've never been so cold in my life. Felt like all the heat had been sucked right out of me. And after that my ma made sure I took first aid classes and that I was prepared for emergency situations. Can't say I disagreed with her."

"She working?"

"My ma?"

Clint nodded.

"Yeah. She got called out. She should be home in a couple of hours."

"Your mom's really nice. I'm sorry she had to work."

"Me too."

Steve sighed. He stood up, took Clint's empty cup into the kitchen and refilled it, pouring a cup of coffee for himself. He spent a few minutes gathering his thoughts, feeling the adrenaline start to wear off. This wasn't how Steve imagined he'd be spending his night. Had Natasha known something like this would happen when she asked him to check in on Clint? Probably not, but she must have known something. Clint and Natasha were attached at the hip, she had to know about the scars.

But what if she didn't? A small voice in Steve's head said that she would have done something if she knew. She wasn't the type of person to beat around the bush. And yeah, she and Clint were close, but Clint wasn't exactly forthcoming with personal information. Steve's only recollection of Clint mentioning his family was a foggy memory of Clint saying he had an older brother.

And that was it.

No name, no details, no funny stories of the two of them together. Just a passing comment and he forwarded the question onto Thor. Had Clint been hiding it since they'd met him three years ago?

Steve wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer to that question. But he needed to know what happened tonight.

Steve walked back into the living room and set the cup down on the coffee table. He returned to his seat, and something on his face must have given away what he was going to say. No sooner had the words, "Clint, we need to-" escaped his mouth before Clint was loudly interrupting him.

"Can we watch a movie?" Clint asked. He sounded desperate, wide eyes begging Steve not to ask anything of him. "Maybe that animated movie Tony wouldn't let us watch? The one with that Cumberband guy?"

"The Grinch?"

"Yeah. That one," Clint quickly agreed. "I need somethin' to keep me awake."

"Sure, but Clint-"

"Please." Steve could just make out Clint's leg bouncing under the blanket. He hid his face in the pile, and seemed to take a few steadying breaths. "I just want to watch the movie."

"Fine. But we'll have to talk about it eventually."

Clint nodded. He propped his chin on his knees, staring determinedly at the television, looking unhappy with Steve's compromise.

Steve let out another heavy sigh. He stood up to grab the remote and plopped down on the couch, queuing up the movie and starting it. He wasn't paying much attention, alternating between covertly watching Clint and thinking about what he was going to do next. He didn't have a solid plan for what that was, but high on the list was punching whoever decided to stick Clint outside in the middle of winter.

Not quite twenty minutes later, well after Steve had zoned out from the movie and Clint had laid his head down and apparently fallen asleep, Steve heard a sharp intake of air.

He looked over at Clint, but he was in the same position, with his head resting on his knees, face hidden by the sweatshirt hood and his own hair. It could have been the television for all Steve knew. He listened a minute longer, telling himself it was his imagination, when there was another sharp intake and Clint and his blanket pile moved.

"Clint?"

Steve saw the blankets shudder, and now that he was paying attention, he could hear the stuttering breaths that Clint was trying to muffle. Steve found himself moving quietly to crouch on the floor in front of Clint. He reached out and slowly moved the hood away from Clint's face, pulling the blankets down just enough to see his face.

Clint looked at him for the briefest of moments before shutting his eyes and turning away from Steve. He seemed to curl up even tighter into himself, and Steve was dismayed to see tears sliding down his face.

"What's going on? Why are you upset?" Steve asked gently.

"I'm sorry. Please don't be mad."

"Hey, of course I won't be mad. You're okay, buddy, just-. Just tell me what's happening. You're scaring me."

"Sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for." Steve hesitated at first then placed his hand on Clint's back and started rubbing comforting circles on it. "Was it something I did?"

Clint shook his head.

"Was it about what happened before you got here?"

Clint flinched, burying his face into his elbow and gasping in air. It was as much of an affirmative as Steve figured he would get.

"I know you don't want to, but I think we need to talk about it. It's not good for you to keep these things bottled up."

Clint nodded. He took a shaky breath in, holding it even as his whole body shuddered and tried to continue hyperventilating. It was several minutes before Clint composed himself enough to grit out, "I don't know what I did wrong."

Steve nodded, waiting patiently while Clint struggled to stay calm, his hand continuing to make slow steady circles. He let Clint collect himself again.

"I couldn't hear him, an' when I told him, he yelled at me not to be so hot-headed. He told me I needed to cool down, and he threw me outside. But he wouldn't let me back in. I thought he would…he usually does after a while. But he didn't."

"Does he do it often?" Steve worked hard to keep his voice even. "Did-? Did he do that to your back?"

"Only the bruises where he grabbed me. They just throw me out of the house." Clint shrugged. "But they always let me back in. I should have stayed. But I was so cold. I couldn't think straight."

"No. You did the right thing, Clint. You could have frozen out there."

"They could throw me out. Or make social services take me away."

"That's not going to happen," Steve said firmly. "Your parents-"

"Fosters-" Clint interrupted. Clint watched Steve nervously, a free hand rubbing at his eyes. "They're my foster parents. Could send me away any time they wanted."

"You did nothing wrong. They won't send you away," Steve said. Privately, he thought it would probably be better for Clint if they did. "Especially because they'd have to admit what they did."

"If they say I ran away on my own, social services won't question it."

"I find that hard to believe."

Clint laughed hollowly. "You wouldn't if you had read my file."

"What do you mean by that?"

"My brother and I bounced around between foster homes when we were younger." Clint rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding Steve's gaze. "He wanted to run away. So we did. And things were fine for years until I got hurt bad enough to need a hospital. The hospital found out and turned me over to the state."

"Years?"

"Yeah."

"And your brother?"

"Gone."

There was a finality in the way he said it, and Steve knew to leave the rest of the story alone.

"Does Natasha know?"

"Yeah. She figured out part of it, and I told her the rest."

"What about the others?"

"No." Clint shook his head. "I think Bruce is suspicious, but he doesn't say anything or treat me any different."

They were quiet for a few minutes before Steve hesitantly asked, "Why are you telling me?"

Clint shrugged, looking uncomfortable. "I owe you something for taking me in," he admitted. "Not to mention, you're a really nice person, Steve. Like, to everyone. Even me, and I know I'm a pain in the ass. You're the only one besides Natasha who bothered to ask how I was doing."

Steve felt guilty, remembering that he only asked Clint how he was because of Natasha.

Maybe Steve had an odd look on his face, or maybe he waited too long to reply, but Clint was hasty to add, "Also, you were the closest. If I was thinking clearer, I would've gone to Tony's and warmed up in the sauna."

"Well, I'm glad you came here." Steve said. "It's nice to have company."

Clint looked doubtful.

"I mean it!" Steve stepped back, grabbed the remote with a flourish, and offered Clint a smile that was only slightly forced. "Nobody deserves to spend the holidays alone. And what better way to enjoy Christmas eve than watching a movie with a good friend?"

"What are you doing?"

"I'm cold. Budge up, and give me some blanket."

Clint wriggled under the blankets, grabbing a few blankets and starting to hold them out to Steve when Steve shook his head and stopped him.

"Just move over. We can share."

"With you?" Clint's eyebrows shot up towards his hairline, and he froze with the blankets half held out to Steve.

"I've seen you cuddled up next to Natasha on multiple occasions. How is this any different?"

"For one thing, you're not Nat."

"Noted."

"And for another, it's more like she traps me in place if I lean against her for too long."

"As you said, I'm not Natasha. I'm not going to make you stay next to me if you're uncomfortable." Steve nudged Clint with his knee. "So move over, please."

Clint grumbled, but moved over so Steve could sit in the corner. He threw part of the blankets over Steve, and curled up several inches away. Steve took his spot and restarted the movie, ignoring the way Clint threw him glances every now and then. After ten minutes, Steve felt Clint relax. A few minutes after that, he felt Clint inch closer as if drawn by Steve's body heat.

Steve pretended not to notice when Clint leaned against him, but he shifted so they were in a more comfortable position. His own eyelids started to droop soon after Clint began snoring quietly, Clint's head resting on his shoulder. It wasn't long before Steve fell asleep himself.

He woke up several hours later, lying on the very edge of the couch. Clint was still lying next to him, his face smooshed into the back of the couch and just visible by the dim light of the television. Steve heard the front door closing softly, his ma's footsteps sounding quietly in the hallway. He yawned, rubbing at his eyes as his ma entered the living room. She looked around in confusion before spotting them.

She gave Steve a smile, concern flashing across her face when she noticed Clint.

"Is everything okay?" she whispered.

"Yeah," Steve whispered back groggily. "We're fine now. I'll explain tomorrow?"

"Of course." She tip-toed closer and smoothed his hair with a soft hand. "Go back to sleep."

Steve nodded and was asleep again within seconds.

The next time Steve woke up, he wasn't sure why. The sun was barely starting to rise outside the window, and the house was quiet. He sat up and glanced around. It was only when he discovered that he wasn't falling off the couch anymore, that realized Clint was gone.

Steve darted up, suddenly feeling wide awake, and he ran for the hallway. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Clint's shoes. Still in the house then.

He'd barely moved when Clint appeared in front of him wearing his own clothes from the other night. They startled each other, Steve letting out a small gasp, and stood there awkwardly.

"Where are you going so early?" Steve asked.

"I'm heading home."

"Why?"

"Because it's Christmas?"

Steve looked confused.

"And people like to spend time with their family on Christmas?"

"And?"

"And I assumed you and your mom have plans that don't involve uninvited friends?"

"Seriously?" Steve crossed his arms, barring Clint from the door.

Clint shrugged.

"Don't be stupid, Clint. You're not leaving."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. For one, it has been snowing all night, and the temperature hasn't warmed up a lick, meaning you would be walking outside in the cold only hours after recovering from hypothermia. We don't even know if they're going to be there to let you inside. What if you end up standing outside in the cold and freezing because you're too stubborn to come back here a second time?" Steve took a calming breath. "Our home is always welcome to friends, no matter what day it is. And we would love for you to spend Christmas with us. You deserve to spend Christmas with people who want you there."

"I can't," Clint said, sounding resigned.

"Why not? Are you afraid they're going to be angry? That they're going to get rid of you?" Steve asked bluntly.

Clint glared back at him but said nothing.

"What if you wake them up and they decide that's it? They're sending you back. Or maybe it's you not returning last night that sets them off."

"You're really doing a great job of making me feel better," Clint deadpanned.

"My point is that you don't owe them anything. And if they decide this is their breaking point, screw them! You, me, Natasha…all of us. We'll figure something out to keep you here."

"How are you going to do that?"

"I don't know. But if it comes to that, we'll make it work. I promise, okay?"

Clint swallowed, rubbing the back of his neck like he always did when he was uncomfortable. Steve couldn't tell if Clint believed him, but it seemed Clint was in a trusting mood.

"Okay," Clint said. "I'll stay."

"Are you alright?"

Clint grinned a little, and nodded. "Yeah. Still just trying to process the knowledge that Steve Rogers, Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes himself, called me stupid and said 'screw you'."

Steve laughed. He put a hand on Clint's shoulder, steering him away from the door. "Come on. You hit the shower and clean up. You can borrow my clothes again. I'll make us all some breakfast."

It turned out that Steve's ma was very understanding about letting Clint stay with them. She had wandered out to the kitchen not long after the shower started, and Steve had told her everything. Not that he had expected her to react differently, but there was something reassuring about her firmly telling Steve that Clint's foster family had no right to do such a thing, and she'd be damned if she let him go back and spend Christmas with them.

She had settled down by the time Clint joined them, and she greeted him with open arms and a long hug. Clint sent a confused look to Steve over her shoulder, sitting nervously at the table once she had released him as Steve started preparing breakfast.

"Steve told me what happened, Clint," Sarah said, sitting across from Clint. "If that ever happens again, I want you to come right here. Our doors are always open to you."

"Thank you, Ma'am. I appreciate it."

"I mean it, Clint. I don't care if the weather is perfect outside. If they kick you out again, I expect to see you at my door."

"You better do as she says," Steve added. "If she finds out you stayed there, she'll show up at your doorstep to tell them off."

"I don't appreciate bullying," Sarah said. "Especially from adults who should know better."

"I see it runs in the family," Clint said.

"Do you know your foster family's phone number? I'd like to call and let them know you're staying with us today."

Clint froze, eyes widening as he made eye contact with Steve. "Do you have to call them?" He asked quietly.

"I won't say anything that would affect how they treat you. I promise."

Clint rattled off a number and his foster's name, his leg jittering nervously under the table while Steve's ma dialed it. Someone must have answered, Steve realized, as his ma's voice took on the professional tone she so often used when she was nursing and trying to keep from sounding judgmental.

"Hello? Is this Mr. Cross? … My name is Sarah Rogers, my son Steve and Clint are friends. I wanted to call and thank you for letting Clint stay over last night and for letting him stay here tonight, too. I know it's not easy being apart over the holidays, but it means so much to me to have him here to keep Steve company while I'm at work." There was a short pause, then his ma smiled and gave them a thumbs up while she said, "It's no trouble at all, he's such a good kid. He's welcome at our house anytime. If you don't mind, we may stop over for a few minutes so Clint can pick up some more of his clothes. The boys are going sledding today, and I expect they'll come back soaked."

Steve saw her smile tighten, her eyes narrowing. "Oh. If you're out of town, it's not a problem. Clint can borrow Steve's clothes in the meantime." She let out a tight, forced laugh. "Exactly. Must be a boy thing. Steve forgets his keys everywhere, too. How about we exchange numbers and you call me when you're back in town? Then we can coordinate the best time for me to drop Clint off?"

She gave him her number, ending with a curt goodbye, and hung up the phone with a huff. "The audacity of that man to insinuate the reason you were stuck out in the cold is because they had left and you forgot to grab your keys."

Clint looked a little stunned by the realization that she was still on his side. They didn't say much more on the subject, but throughout breakfast, Steve caught him subtly watching his ma with a look of awe on his face. Steve had never seen Clint move so quickly to help clean up, and he was worried Clint would get hurt falling over himself in his almost desperate attempts to be helpful.

When they were alone, Steve bumped Clint, giving him a smile. "Hey, relax," Steve said. "You don't have to try so hard."

"Who said I was trying?" Clint put away the last dish, and hopped onto the counter, the few extra inches placing him eye to eye with Steve. "Maybe I like doing the dishes."

"I know you better than that. You're trying to impress my mom."

"That's because I like her more than you." Clint smirked, heels thumping against the cupboard as he swung his legs.

"That's the Clint I know! Always quick with a witty comment. Don't feel like you can't be yourself in front of us." Steve gave him a light slap on the knee. "Now come on, it's time to open presents. Then after that, we're playing games."

Steve lead Clint into the living room where his ma was waiting for them. She had a Santa hat perched on the top of her head and a small pile of presents held in her hands. She beamed at them, gesturing for them to take a seat.

"Merry Christmas, boys! Time to open presents!"

"Did you grab yours from under the tree?"

"I did, Stevie. Even though you shouldn't have gotten me anything."

"I couldn't help myself."

His ma placed presents in front of him and ruffled his hair. She turned to Clint and held out a hastily wrapped box, placing it in front of him when he didn't immediately reach for them. "It's not much. And you don't have to take it if you don't want it."

"Thank you, but-"

"Don't argue, Clint. Stop at thank you."

"Thank you," Clint repeated. "I'm sure I'll love it."

To take the pressure off Clint, Steve started opening his own presents. He was excited to see the new art supplies and clothes. And his ma seemed happy with the books he had picked out for her. He almost forgot about Clint until he looked over and saw Clint staring at a new blue sweatshirt in his hands with a look of surprise on his face. Steve leaned closer and saw the black silhouette of a Labrador on the front of it.

"That's a nice sweatshirt, Clint. The only thing that could have made it better for you were if it were purple," he said.

Clint seemed to snap out of, turning wide eyes to Steve and his ma as he stuttered out, "Thank you. How did you-?"

He trailed off, and Steve's ma's eyes twinkled as she watched them. "It was originally going to be for a coworker, but I found something better for him. You like it?"

"I love it! But I can't accept it. I don't have anything for you."

"Clint Barton, that sweatshirt is a gift. You enjoy it, and don't you dare think of getting us something in return," Steve's ma said.

"Thank you so much," Clint said. He hesitated, then removed his own sweatshirt and replaced it with the new one. It was a little big, covering part of his hand, but he smiled widely and touched the dog happily.

It wasn't a sudden change, but Steve could gradually see Clint becoming more comfortable. He made a few jokes, eyeing them carefully to make sure they were acceptable, and when he wasn't chastised or judged, he opened up a little more. Maybe not as snarky as he usually was, but he bantered with Steve and his ma. It took a while, but eventually he showed his competitive side while playing games. Steve's suspicion that Clint was throwing games of cards was validated when Clint suddenly went on a winning streak that ended twenty minutes later after Steve had had enough and suggested they switch games.

Clint had given him a wink and told him it was his lucky sweatshirt.

They had a lovely dinner and watched his ma's favorite Christmas movie while they relaxed and digested their food. Near the end of the night when everyone was looking tired, Steve pulled out his camera and set it up to take their annual Christmas photo.

Before Clint could make an excuse, Steve pulled him into the frame so that he could have his picture taken with them. Clint tried to duck away, offering to take the picture for them, but Steve insisted.

Steve slung an arm around his ma and Clint, grinning broadly, a Santa hat sitting atop his head. He smiled as the camera flashed and took the picture. Steve showed it to both of them before running off to their printer and printing off a copy.

He quickly added it to his collage.

Three people instead of two stared back happily from the picture. And as Steve listened to Clint telling his ma how to throw the cards so they landed perfectly in a box, he knew he wouldn't have wanted to celebrate Christmas any other way.


End file.
